Page 56 of Deacon

“What do you want from me?” I whisper.

He sits up, his arms wrapping around my body, holding me in his lap. Skin on tattooed skin. Hard against soft.

“You,” he says.

The way his voice is just a rasp when he whispers is so soothing, like waking up scared and hearing someone safe coming for me.

“Why?” I breathe.

He nuzzles his nose under my chin. His lips run over my collarbone.

“You’re something,” he says. “Something I shouldn’t be allowed to have, but I want anyway.”

I understand that to my core.

“I don’t know,” he continues. “I’m not like you, sweetheart, I don’t have nice words. But I know you stopped me with one look. That has to mean something.”

My head falls back. He’s kissing me, licking me, biting my skin.

Up until now, I’ve only experienced male attention as a negative. I’ve been called a whore plenty. I’ve been touched by someone who didn’t like me but wanted to get all the pleasure he could from my body.

But I’ve never had anybody touch me the way Deacon does.

I’m not sure knowing better has got anything to do with what we do in his bed. It’s a pull I can’t resist, I couldn’t fight it from the moment we met. And I’m scared I’ll just keep coming back for more.

He brushes my chin with his mouth. “I need you, sweetheart.”

Breathless, I nod. He flips me to my back and pulls me beneath the quilt. The world is just heat and darkness and him. Insistently, he shoves my thighs apart and sinks between them. He spits into his hand, and his palm runs over my sex. Then, the head of his cock pushes against my entrance, and I wince.

“That hurt?” he asks.

I nod again. “A little bit. You’re big.”

The corner of his mouth turns up. “Thank you.”

“It’s not a compliment. You’ve got an extra limb down there,” I whisper, surprised I have it in me to tease him.

He reaches up and takes a pillow, lifting my lower body and setting it down onto it. It’s a flat pillow, so there’s only a slight tilt to my body.

His lips brush my forehead.

“Sometimes, I can be rough,” he says. “But I don’t mean to be.”

“It’s okay,” I whisper. “I like it.”

“Tell me if it hurts and you don’t like it,” he says, giving me a piercing stare.

I nod. He spits on his fingers again, and they slip between us. This time, they find my clit and move in slow circles—not right on it, just barely grazing where the nerves are most sensitive. Heat tingles up my thighs and centers in my core.

His fingers go faster, getting closer. My eyes flutter shut for a second, and I let myself moan because I want him to keep doing that. He shifts his thumb to cover my clit, moving it back and forth. Pleasure tightens inside, rising until it’s an itch he has to scratch. My hips undulate. His fingers keep going.

Then, he stops.

My eyes snap open. He’s lifting me, rolling to his back, and settling me astride his body.

“Changed my mind,” he grunts. “Need to feel that tight pussy wrapped around my dick.”

I tense as he lifts me with one hand, reaching between us, and guides himself into me. Slowly, holding his wrist for balance, I let him slide into my pussy. It’s as heavy and thick as it was the first time around. I bite back a groan as our bodies connect.

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